Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 107557 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 538(@200wpm)___ 430(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107557 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 538(@200wpm)___ 430(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
“No disagreement there, but that game will have to be played with extreme caution. Look, let’s just concentrate on finding Sadie first, then we can focus on how to deal with Flank Steak. In the meantime, I have her entered into CLEAN as a missing person. I’ve also contacted every hospital in at least a fifty-mile radius and told them to call me if she shows up.”
“Good idea.” It was smart to enter Sadie as a missing person into the Commonwealth Law Enforcement Assistance Network. Since all law enforcement agencies had access to it and would be able to keep a lookout for her. The more people looking for the woman, the better. Plus, if she got arrested, it would ping on that missing person report.
“He has to have her hidden somewhere,” Decker murmured.
“That or he dumped her somewhere. Because, really, why the fuck does he still want her? From what you said, she’s close to dead already. How much money can he be making off her at this point?”
Decker blew out a harsh breath. “Don’t discount how fucking depraved some men can be. Some can be hole blind.”
“Hole blind?” That was a new one for him.
“They just care about easy access to a hole, doesn’t matter where that hole is or what shape it’s in. And this is one woman who won’t scream rape or abuse or anything. She’ll be compliant. No matter what it is.”
“Because technically she’s agreeing to whatever happens by taking the drugs T-Bone gives her as payment,” Rez concluded. “Think he’ll find another woman to replace her once Sadie is,” he ate the last word he was going to say and replaced it with, “found?”
“Damn right he will if he’s making good scratch pimping her out. He could even be working right now on getting another woman so damn addicted that she’s willing to do whatever he wants just for that next high.”
“That’s not a fucking life.” Rez tugged his Pittsburgh Pirates baseball cap lower, then lifted his eyes to his brother. “How you holding up? It has to be difficult to deal with this shit all over again.”
Decker’s lips thinned. “Actually, it’s worse this time. My sister’s spiral down to the bottom was all on her, she wasn’t being controlled by anyone else. Not only that, I have to watch Sloane toss and turn all night with worry. I want the best to happen, but…”
“It’s going to be the worst. Hear you, brother.”
“Got plans for New Year’s Eve?”
“When’s that?” With a frown, Rez glanced at the date on his cell phone.
Decker laughed. “Tomorrow, dumbass.”
Holy fuck. He had forgotten that it was New Year’s Eve before he told Saint he’d stop in at The Peach Pit.
“Then, yeah, I do. I guess I’ll be partying at The Peach Pit tomorrow night. How about you?”
“I’m just planning a quiet night at home with Sloane and Val. Mom’s stopping over for a bit. I doubt she’ll last until midnight.”
“Maybe I’ll send my mom over to hang out with you all since it sounds like a fucking blast.”
“Yeah, well, I’m sure The Peach Pit will be a little more exciting.”
“Have you seen their new talent? I’d rather spend the night partying at your place with our mothers. Should I bring the spiked Ensure?”
Decker chuckled. “Door will be open.”
Chapter Three
Since they dumped a lot of the other security policies, Rez was hoping they would remove the metal detector from the front entrance so he could go into The Peach Pit with a weapon. But of fucking course, that was one policy they kept in place. Probably so their own asses didn’t get shot up. Or stabbed.
Rez hated having to leave his gun in his vehicle. Not his Dodge Durango, since someone who was broke as fuck would most likely not be driving an SRT Hellcat. Instead, tonight he commandeered one of the task force’s pool cars sitting behind The Plant.
He sure couldn’t cry broke when he drove a vehicle that set him back around seventy-five grand. Of course, he told his mother it only cost around forty-five. He hated lying to her, but he also would rather not have a chola—what his Venezuelan mother called a flip-flop—permanently embedded in his noggin.
He gave the prospect working the lobby a chin lift in greeting, threw his keys and cell phone into the plastic basket, stepped through the metal detector, and gathered his keys once on the other side. He tried to snag his cell phone, too, but the Demon prospect stopped him with a shake of his head and by jutting out his hand.
He hated giving up that lifeline, too. But little did Popeye know Rez had a lethal nine-inch ceramic knife strapped to his calf. He knew better than to enter enemy territory without any way of protecting himself.
When he made his way through the double doors into the main club area, the blasting music immediately made his head pound.